


John, Sherlock, and the Kitten

by Shinokama



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Just Add Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinokama/pseuds/Shinokama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock finds a lost kitten and wishes to keep it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John, Sherlock, and the Kitten

“Oh, bloody hell Sherlock.” “John, just look at it. Look at it and tell me you don’t want to keep it.” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Every day, every single day, Sherlock had to do something that he knew John would be against. “John,” Sherlock whined, holding up the small surprise he had discovered on the street. John scowled in response and looked down on the tiny, fluffy, orange kitten held hostage between his flat mate’s long fingers. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “No, I can’t tell you I want to keep it.”

“Johnn,” Sherlock whined again, holding the kitten to his chest, a rare look of distress across his face. At least, it looked like genuine distress to the untrained eye; John had lived with Sherlock long enough now that he easily saw through Sherlock’s efforts to manipulate him. He threw his hands in the air, frustrated. “For fuck’s sake, Sherlock!” He shouted, shaking his head. “Maybe Mrs. Hudson will take it! But you can’t keep it here!” “Hush, you’re upsetting it!” Sherlock snapped back, squeezing the kitten’s head to his chest as if to protect it from harmful words, invoking a tiny mew of protest from the ball of fluff.

Sherlock looked down at it in amazement, then back up at John as if the thing had spoken proper English at them. “Did you hear that?” He asked, holding the shivering ball of orange fuzz up between them like a prize. “It mewed!” He cooed at it, snuggling his nose into its fluff, making it heave another tiny meow in objection. “See that,” John said, pointing. “It doesn’t even like you.” Sherlock scoffed. “Of course it likes me. It’s just hungry.” He paused, flashing his eyes pleadingly at John. “We have to keep it.”

John ground his teeth. “No!” He said back, jerking a thumb at himself. “Because I’ll end up being the one who has to shop for the thing, take it to the vet, feed and water it, clean its cat box, and anything else it might need!” Sherlock said nothing in return, now giving his very best pretty-please-look-how-pitiful-I-can-be gaze, blue eyes round and wide, a full-on pout forming. “I notice how you don’t even try to deny those facts!” He exclaimed, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. They traded gazes for a moment longer, Sherlock looking as pitiful as he could possibly muster and John glaring daggers at him, the kitten meowing loudly in between them. “Fine Sherlock!” John finally attested, throwing his hands up with a huff.

“She’s hungry,” Sherlock replied, a victorious smile playing on his face, sweeping into the kitchen with kitten in tow. “And what are we going to feed it, mold cultures, rotten ears or toes?” John questioned, still miffed. “Maybe an eyeball or two?”  Sherlock threw John a scathing look. “No, she needs milk,” he replied, as if John were an idiot. “She?” John asked, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, crossing his arms, fairly certain any milk that happened to be in their fridge was long since expired. “Yes, she,” The consulting detective replied, placing the kitten on a clear spot on the kitchen table before hunting around and to John’s amazement finding a box of powdered milk from a cupboard.

“Her name in Vicky,” he added, quickly mixing water and the powder in a small bowl to make formula. “Because she’s orange.”  John couldn’t fathom what being orange had to do with being named Vicky, but he drew close to the table to guide the confused ball of fluff away from the edge of the table before she fell and hurt herself, sitting down with another sigh as Sherlock brought the little bowl in front of the kitten. They both watched as the kitten sniffed the contents of the shallow bowl suspiciously before getting her nose too close and dipping it into the formula, jerking her head back and mewling in surprise.

Sherlock clasped his hands together under his chin and smiled the most manic grin John had ever seen on his face as the kitten licked the milk from her nose and quickly got the hang of lapping up the formula, making little feeding sounds. “She’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Sherlock declared, still sporting the grin as he looked down at her. “You are not allowed to do any experiments on her whatsoever Sherlock, do you hear me?” John demanded. “I will not have bits of cut up kitten around the kitchen, or tails in the blender, or cat soup in the microwave. None of that, or anything else you may be thinking concerning this cat and experiments.”

 Sherlock shot him a contemptuous look. “Don’t act like my mother; I would never do such a thing.” John rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised you mother had this conversation with you,” he muttered. “Mycroft, actually,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly, tracing his finger lightly down the kitten’s spine as she ate to her heart’s content. “Of course,” John replied, rolling his eyes again. The kitten looked up, whiskers dripping, much to Sherlock’s amusement. She looked them both over briefly, then promptly tottered over to John and meowed at him plaintively, her blue eyes locked on to his.

“Why’s she going to you?” Sherlock asked, pouting. John laughed. “I dunno, maybe because I haven’t been holding her hostage this entire time.” Sherlock made a scornful sound in his throat. “I made her food though.” He muttered as John picked her up between cupped hands. “What?” He asked, holding her up to his face, grinning despite himself. She mewed again and managed to free a tiny paw, batting at John’s nose, making him laugh in response. “She is pretty cute,” he relented, smiling at her.

“Yes yes, give her back,” Sherlock demanded, taking the kitten and leaving to the living room, where he promptly laid on the couch and placed the kitten on his chest, studying her. John shook his head and went to his room, retrieving his wallet, coming back out to the living room to watch Sherlock and the kitten play. “Well, I’ll go get her food and such,” he said wryly, stepping to the door. “Get plenty of cat toys,” Sherlock said in response. “And a little collar with a bell.” John rolled his eyes. “You want the fancy stuff, you go shopping for her,” He shot back, leaving the flat.

At the store he found everything a young kitten could ever need, including five different mouse and feather toys and a little blue collar with a bell on it that matched her eyes. Coming through the flat again thirty minutes later, he discovered Sherlock napping on the couch, the kitten curled up and asleep on his chest. Not missing his chance for blackmail, John pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the two, grinning from ear to ear. He had to admit, the kitten made a cute addition to their little family already.


End file.
